


Memories In Your Head

by acrazyobsession



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode: s01e04 Death at Victoria Dock, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Missing Scene, Whumptober 2019, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-07 12:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20976221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrazyobsession/pseuds/acrazyobsession
Summary: The taste of metal in her mouth, the smell of gunpowder in the air, the oozing blood between her fingers, the yelling and clanging at the gates, and the darkness of the alley caused a sudden rush of memories that Phryne wished would have stayed in 1918.





	Memories In Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> MFMM Whumptober 2019 Prompt "Tear-Stained"  
I would like to thank Seldarius for reading through this for me - you give great comments! Also, I couldn't have done this without the Phrack Slack. I was really nervous about posting my first fic, but I have had so much support from you all. MFMM really does have a great community - you all are so much fun.

Phryne was not impressed by Mr. Waddington’s attitude or by the fact that meeting him at his office had required her to go through a mob of angry men. But as she listened to him talk about his daughter, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Looking at the picture of the missing girl, young and pretty, with braids and ribbons, it hit a little too close to home for her. It was probably better if her new client went to the police. They would be better suited to finding his daughter. However, it seemed that he preferred to keep the police out of his “delicate domestic matter.”

Phryne didn’t get a chance to convince him otherwise, as a gunshot rang through the air. Rushing out of the building, Phryne was quick to act and dodged a second bullet that echoed through the alley.

Heart racing and eyes wide, she looked around to see if the source of the gunshots was still around. This wasn’t how she had expected to spend her evening. Her Hispano-Suiza blocked some of her view of the alley, but she was pretty sure the gunman was gone.

“Call the police,” she called to Mr Waddington who stood shocked off to the side.

Coming around her vehicle, she saw a man lying shaking on the ground; blood soaking through his wool coat.

“And call an ambulance, somebody’s been shot!” She rushed to the man’s side and knelt beside him, disregarding her white outfit.

With a hand cradling his head, she tried to calm him. “It's alright. Hold still.” She tore open his shirt to examine his wounds. “Whoa!” she chided as he attempted to sit up. “You're not going anywhere. We've only just met,” she coaxed, hoping her sense of humor would calm him.

The young face was splattered with blood, eyes closed tight against the pain. His hands were clenched and his body trembled in shock. Youth was not going to help him today. He started coughing, spewing blood over her white blouse. The metallic smell of blood filled her nose. Her pale hand pressed her glove against the wound. 

_There is so much blood._

Attempting to encourage him, she flashed him a bright smile, but her white gloves were quickly changing to bright red.

Her own breathing was becoming more ragged as the sight before her brought images from her past to mind. Her eyes fluttered and she took a deep breath. _Focus._ But there was nothing she could do. The blood continued to pool on his chest, and his face had lost its anguish. Shock had taken over and he probably wasn’t feeling anything. He was not going to survive.

_Where is the ambulance?_

“Nina,” he choked out a whisper. She leaned in to hear him. “Nina!” His hand struggled to reach into his pocket. “For... Nina.” His words were weak, but she knew what he wanted.

“Yes,” she replied, taking the red velvet box and squeezing his trembling hands.

“Tell... tell her…” His voice trailed off.

Beneath her blood-covered hands, the rise and fall of his chest stopped. It was no longer his hands that were shaking. It was hers. With ragged breaths, she stared at her hand still entwined with his. The metallic smell in her nostrils intensified, and suddenly she was on the battlefield with a dying soldier pleading in her arms. The grip of bloody, desperate hands, the smoke from gunfire and explosions. The noise of yelling soldiers. She pushed away from the body and squeezed her eyes shut.

Pulling her wrap tightly against her, she was barely aware of the commotion around her. She could not get rid of the images of war. Of blood covered uniforms. The young man had begged her to find his girl as he pushed a box into her hands. A box which she knew must hold a ring. How many dying pleas had she heard? How many promises had she made to those soldiers so that they could die in peace?

She didn’t know when the police arrived or how Hugh came to be standing next to her. But his voice was a distant noise as he stood asking her questions. All she could think about was the sticky blood on her hands. The blood on her shirt. And she just wanted it gone. She just wanted to get it off of her. Without any concern for Hugh or anyone else in the now brightly lit alley, she frantically pushed her wrap into Hugh’s hands, unbuttoned her cuffs, and nearly ripped the blouse off her body.

The cool air against her skin made her shiver and she took the wrap as Hugh handed it back to her. “Thank you, Constable,” she muttered as she wrapped herself up. All she wanted now was to go home and get away from the smell of death that hung in the air.

“Are you alright, Miss Fisher?” Hugh’s voice was soft and concerned.

She watched with an absent gaze as policemen covered the body at her feet with a tarp. “Of course,” she replied with a slight rise in her voice knowing she was far from alright. She tore her eyes from the scene. “I'd like you to take me home now, if you'd be so kind.”

~ * ~ * ~

The ride back to Wardlow was silent. Not that she would have heard any questions that Hugh directed her way. She absently thanked him for the ride and let herself into the house. But walking through the door she was brought out of her daze by the sight her aunt sitting in her parlour.

“Good Lord, Phryne! What on earth have you been up to?”

Phryne knew she must look a fright, but she was not in the mood for whatever drama Aunt Prudence brought with her this evening.

“All in the line of duty, Aunt Prudence.”

Mr. Butler placed a tumbler of whiskey in her hand as she sat down in a chair. Before anyone could notice the slight tremble of the glass, she brought it to her lips and took a couple gulps.

“It's been a taxing evening, Aunt Prudence. Right now, all I have the stamina for is a hot bath and a stiff drink, so unless there's something desperately important…” The weight of the memories still pressed on her chest, but her attention was soon shifted to Jane and the trouble at school. Though thankful for the distraction, she was still covered in blood and the smell of it was stuck in her nose. She could deal with Jane in the morning. But she needed her aunt to leave and reassured the older woman as she made her way to the door.

Finally alone and with a refilled glass in her hand, she closed her eyes and focused on how the whiskey burned its way down her throat. The sound of running water upstairs told her Dot was filling the bath. _Bless that girl_. She downed the last of her drink, placed it on the table, and headed up to her bedroom.

Undressing, the sight of her white fur covered in blood was just another thing to add to the list of a very bad day. And the bright red against the stark white did nothing for her current emotional state. But Dot was a miracle worker, so hopefully it could be worn again.

The hot water felt divine against her cold skin and it would quickly wash away the dried blood. But the memories in her head couldn’t be swept away quite so easily. Even ten years later, they were as clear as if the war had happened last week.

“Whose blood is it, Miss?” Dot’s soft voice was laced with sadness.

“I don't know, Dot. He was young.” There had been so many young men.

Death and injury had affected so many families. Her own included. But it was the battlefield that haunted her. The smell of blood and infected wounds. The sound of gunfire and screaming men. The sight of stretcher after stretcher of dying soldiers. The taste of metal and wartime fare. It was overwhelming.

With a deep breath, she sank beneath the water to try and escape the onslaught of memories.

~ * ~ * ~

She awoke with a scream caught in her throat and her hands gripping the blanket. In complete darkness, all she could hear was the quick beat of her heart and her own gasps as she tried to catch her breath. The plush doona beneath her fingers, the quietness of her room, and the aroma of bath oils quickly helped her realize where she was. She let out a sob of relief that it had only been a dream.

It had taken her years to be able to close her eyes at night and not hear their cries or see the blood. Since then, every once in a while something would trigger a memory and her dreams would be haunted. This was the worst it had been in a while. She had been so young and fearless when she joined the ambulance unit. Though she had been fortunate to come out of it with her life, it had changed her as it did so many others.

Looking at the clock, she sighed. She had not even been asleep for an hour. From experience, she knew sleep would not come again soon. And honestly, she didn’t know if she even wanted to risk it at this point.

It wasn’t often that she was struck by a sense of loneliness, but just then it threatened to overtake her. She had to get out of this room. With a deep breath, she frantically pushed and pulled at the blankets to untangle them from her legs. From the looks of it, she had done quite a bit of thrashing about. 

Pulling on a dressing gown and wrapping her arms around herself, she quietly padded down the stairs and into the parlour. A lamp by the chaise was all she needed as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. There was something about this room that was comforting. Maybe it was the turquoise color of the walls, the smell of the fireplace, or how perfectly her piano fit in the space. Sitting on the lounge, she curled her feet up under herself and brought the tumbler to her lips. She could see hours of late night drinks, conversation, parties, and games happening in this room. And it made her smile. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep the tears from building. The smile had been a bad idea. It seemed that one emotion opened the door for the other. The one that she had been avoiding all evening. Usually, she just pushed the sadness away and carried on, but that was only an option for so long until it just couldn’t be held back anymore. 

So, sitting in her parlour surrounded by the comfort that the room brought her, she finally let the tears come. They overtook her with a sob, streaming down her face. 

A small laugh escaped her lips in the midst of a deep breath as a sudden yearning to be held swept over her. This was a feeling she rarely had. The intimacy of love-making yes, but to just have someone hold her? No. Especially since one and only one person came to mind. How had he managed to sneak into her life so quickly? He was unlike any man she had ever met, and she had enjoyed flirting with him and seeing how uncomfortable it made him. But she didn’t understand why she now made a connection to him and emotional comfort.

_That is for another day._

She took a long ragged breath through her nose, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and ran her hand through her hair. It was late and she had survived plenty of rough nights alone, so she threw back the last of the whiskey and was about to switch off the lamp when she heard a noise. At first she thought it was just the creaking of the house, but she heard it again. Someone was knocking at the door.

It was awfully late for house guests. She softly walked to the front door and looked out the elaborately colored windows but couldn’t make out who it was. Intrigued, she opened the door slightly.

“Jack.” Her voice cracked in surprise at seeing the man who had just been in her thoughts. She stepped aside to let him in, but he hesitated just outside the door. His eyes drifted over her face as she turned slightly to hide the tear-stained cheeks.

With a sweep of her hand she encouraged him to come in. He bowed his head and took the final steps into the entry.

“I drove by and saw the light. I hope it’s not too late,” he whispered as he took off his hat.

“Never,” she said with sincerity as she closed the door. “I was just having a drink. Would you like one?” She scolded herself for letting her voice shake the way it was. The nightmare had undone any good that the hot bath had managed to do for her mind or body. Another drink was definitely in order.

He nodded and hung his hat and coat on the rack. “Collins told me what happened,” he said carefully as he walked into the parlour.

His tone betrayed that it wasn’t just the shooting that Hugh had told him about. But they didn’t know each other well enough for him to just come out and ask her.

“I hope I didn’t get him into any trouble.” She handed him his drink, deliberately avoiding the topic he was hinting at. As he took the glass, he held her gaze. Caught off guard by the sudden release of tension in her body, she cleared her throat. “My car was part of the crime scene.” She quickly turned and walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. This man somehow, with just one look, managed to release the weight that had been pressing on her chest all evening.

Leaning her back against the mantle, her eyes drifted down to her drink. The shuffle of his feet and movement of his shadow caught her attention as he crossed the room. He stopped mere inches from her shoulder, one hand resting the mantle, the other holding his drink as he stared down into the fire.

The smell of his cologne has filled the room - a combination of sandalwood and vanilla. It was intoxicating. She took a long slow breath through her nose and let the comforting scents replace the haunting smells. _I should invade his personal space more often._

“I couldn’t help but think of...” It just popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“The war.” He paused to take a sip of his whiskey. “A lot of good men died. Those memories aren’t easy to forget.”

He understood the darkness that had plagued her. Because it plagued him too. He understood.

Jack downed the last sip of his drink and placed the glass on the surround. She copied his actions and turned to face him - not quite ready to have him step away. Her hands made their way to the lapels of his jacket. She avoided his eyes for a moment and instead focused on his tie as she moved a hand to smooth it out.

This man had walked into her life - well she walked into his - and confused her. Right now, she just knew how grateful she was that he had felt comfortable enough to come check on her. That he had heard what happened and knew she might need someone who understood. Her lashes slowly lifted and she looked into those blue eyes.

“Are you going to be okay?”

That voice could make almost any demon disappear. “Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll be by tomorrow to get your statement.”

She walked him to the door where he donned his coat and hat. “Miss Fisher.”

“Jack.”


End file.
